


Mine

by LalaGen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:14:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21770113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LalaGen/pseuds/LalaGen
Summary: Bellamione soulmate fic where the first words your soulmate says to you are tattooed on your skin
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Comments: 40
Kudos: 551





	1. Truths Revealed

**Author's Note:**

> Oh dear, I've started another fic, and right in the middle of finals season. Warning: This will be slow going, read at your own risk.

Instead of focusing on her notes in preparation for the Charms exam the next day, Hermione found herself studying her left forearm, running her fingers over the letters printed into her skin. Sometimes she wished her tattoo were placed somewhere a little harder to access, like the “I’ve got something to tell you” wrapped around Harry’s right ankle or the “Oi, ginger!” scrawled across Ron’s chest. Unlike Hermione, they didn’t seem too fussed about their tattoos. Then again, Harry had already found his soulmate, and Ron was busy pursuing any girl who happened to glance his way.

To Hermione, her soulmate tattoo was a mystery, a puzzle she couldn’t solve. Who was this person who matched her perfectly? She ran through her mental list of facts that she knew about her soulmate. 

_Alive_. The most important detail. The words on her arm were dark, as though newly inked, not like Cho’s tattoo, which had faded to a light gray following the Triwizard Tournament. Hermione couldn’t begin to imagine the pain of losing one’s soulmate so young.

 _Older_. People’s soulmate tattoos appeared on their bodies when their soulmates were born, and her parents told her she’d had hers since birth. 

_A woman?_ The phrase on her arm certainly seemed to imply it. Which left Hermione to ponder the various situations in which a person’s first words to her would be “Girl to girl.”

Sometimes she worried that she was creating too much buildup. What if her soulmate didn’t live up to expectations? She knew she wasn’t always an easy person to put up with. She had a tendency to drone on about certain academic subjects, she loved giving unsolicited advice, and her constant pursuit of perfection didn’t make her any more likable. Even the boys got tired of her at times. Was there really someone who would not just accept her quirks, but also love her for them?

Hermione’s train of thought was interrupted when she found herself suddenly engulfed in darkness. Her candle had burned all the way through, but she didn’t bother lighting a new one. She was done studying for the night. She fumbled her way to her bed in the dark, not wanting to wake her roommates with a _Lumos_ incantation.

She hoped her exhaustion would finally grant her a restful sleep. Ever since what had happened in the Department of Mysteries, she’d been having recurring nightmares of Sirius’s death. 

Some people claimed that they dreamed about their soulmates before even meeting them, but all Hermione got were visions of that crazed witch with disheveled dark locks and a gleaming, feral grin. That night was no exception.

* * *

_Two years later..._

Hermione shouldn’t have been surprised that they’d been caught. They hadn’t been careful enough, and then the Snatchers had been on them. She knew her plan to conceal Harry’s identity had been too optimistic, and it had fallen apart within minutes, which is how she found herself on her knees, tied to Harry and Ron, staring up at the Malfoy Manor gates. 

She’d never thought this would be how she spent her last moments. Bound to her two best friends as the Malfoys eagerly identified them one by one. Perhaps her belief that good would always prevail over evil had made her too confident. She hadn’t prepared enough, she’d allowed herself to get sloppy. Too late now. She wondered if her soulmate would mourn her upon discovering his or her faded tattoo.

And then Bellatrix Lestrange walked into the room, and Hermione grew sick with fear at the sight of the woman who had so often awoken her in a cold sweat. Bellatrix looked straight at her, eyes bearing into hers, and Hermione could see the insanity in their depths. “But surely this is the Mudblood girl. This is Granger?” she whispered with feverish excitement. 

It was almost amusing to watch them bicker over who would call Voldemort. She would be dead soon, so she might as well enjoy the provided entertainment. Then by some stroke of luck, they were being spared at least a little while longer, a window of opportunity to plan and execute an escape. 

Hermione could have cried in relief when Narcissa Malfoy ordered Greyback to take them down to the cellar. The feeling was short lived. “Wait,” said Bellatrix sharply. “All except… except for the Mudblood.”

Ron began protesting, but Hermione could hardly hear over the blood pounding in her ears. Bellatrix sliced through the ropes joining her to the other prisoners with a flick of her wand, and another flick sent Hermione crashing into the far wall. She cried out in pain and watched in horror as her friends were taken away. What was going to happen to her?

Bellatrix answered her unspoken question, announcing, “I’m going to have a little conversation with this one.” The witch stalked closer, and pressing her against the wall, finished, “Girl to girl.”

Her blood ran cold, and she must have blanched, but Bellatrix didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, probably used to getting that reaction. She only cackled and dragged the younger witch to the center of the room. 

Hermione could barely feel the claw-like nails digging into her scalp, tearing at her hair. All she could think was that there had to be a mistake. Her soulmate, the one she’d longed to meet, couldn’t be Bellatrix, a woman—a monster—so vile and cruel even other Death Eaters feared her. No, it couldn’t be. After all, those words hadn’t been the first she’d heard Bellatrix utter… but were they the first words Bellatrix had spoken directly to her?

The potential soulmate in question was not privy to Hermione’s inner thoughts, and she shoved Hermione to the ground. “How did you get that sword?” Hermione struggled to get up. “Ah ah ah,” Bellatrix wagged her finger. “No moving.” A burst of light shot out from her wand, and Hermione found her legs locked in place. “Now answer my question.”

Hermione knew she had to stay silent, and not just to protect the information. If she said anything, the witch would find out about their bond (if it even existed), which she was sure Bellatrix would exploit in some way. 

The witch in front of her sighed impatiently. “Come now, pet. Cooperate while I’m in a good mood, and it’ll be a lot less painful for you. A lot less fun for me though.” She cackled again, and the sound made Hermione’s skin crawl. She remained silent.

Bellatrix shrugged, then her mouth widened in a grin. “Have it your way. _Crucio!_ ” she cried, wand pointed at Hermione’s chest. She closed her eyes, bracing for a blast of pain, but it never came. She tentatively opened her eyes.

“ _Crucio! Crucio!_ ” Bellatrix continued to shout, but Hermione knew it was no use. She almost wished she could feel the excruciating pain the spell was meant to induce. Instead, all she felt was the dread of confirmation and bile rising up her throat. The soulmate bond prevented either one from casting an Unforgivable Curse on the other. 

The older witch didn’t seem to make the same connection. “Some sort of charm to protect yourself from my spells? That’s alright, Mudblood, I can hurt you the Muggle way, too.”

Bellatrix jumped on top of her before she could roll out of the way, fingers encircling her throat. Feeling panicked, Hermione threw a few punches, which the other witch deflected with a growl. “You dare lay a hand on me?” Bellatrix pinned both of her arms to the ground with one hand. She was stronger than Hermione expected.

“That’s better.” Her grin had reappeared, and she brushed an escaped lock of hair back behind her ear. Then she paused, her eyes finding the writing on Hermione’s arm. Her mouth warped into a sneer, and her free hand wrapped tighter around Hermione’s neck. “Speak, Mudblood. SPEAK!”

Hermione’s vision swam with black spots, the pain and pressure on her windpipe mounting. She bucked furiously, trying to throw the Death Eater off of her, but it was no use. “Please,” she gasped. “Please, stop.” A single tear leaked out from the corner of her eye. She looked up into her tormentor’s face, expecting a flicker of recognition, a reaction of some kind, but receiving none.

To her surprise, Bellatrix released her neck, and she sucked in a lungful of air, almost choking on it. The older witch waited until she was done coughing and sputtering. “You’re wrong, muddy. Whatever you think there is between us, you’re WRONG!” Hermione startled, and Bellatrix seemed pleased. “I have no soulmate tattoo.”

Hermione paused. She knew some of her peers were missing tattoos. Some would develop them later on in life, but others might never get them. They weren’t common, but the Unmatched did exist. Could Bellatrix be one of them? Maybe her soulmate was someone else after all?

Bellatrix continued on. “Which means I have no qualms about hurting, torturing, or killing you. Now tell me, how did you get the sword?” Hermione just stared blankly up at her. “Being difficult, pet? Then I’ll show you what I think of your silly little tattoo!”

Suddenly, a searing agony shot up Hermione’s left arm, and she screamed, tears springing to her eyes. Finally the pain receded, and she looked down to see that Bellatrix had carefully carved something over her tattoo with a dagger. “Let’s take a break, shall we? It’s hard to answer questions when you’re too busy screaming. Now are you ready to talk?”

Hermione gritted her teeth. And the screaming began again. It felt like they had been at it for hours, although common sense suggested that only a few minutes had passed. She wouldn’t last for long. Bellatrix was certainly an expert.

Another break. Words whispered furiously into her ear. “That sword is meant to be in my vault in Gringotts. How did you get it? Did you and your friends TAKE IT FROM MY VAULT?” Sharp nails dug into her skin, drawing blood.

Hermione sobbed out, “I didn’t take anything. _Please_ , I didn’t—”

“LIAR!” Bellatrix screeched.

“The sword is a fake, it’s a copy. I promise!” She couldn’t take the pain anymore.

“Your promises means nothing to me, you filthy Mudblood!” She held the dagger over Hermione’s face threateningly.

Lucius interjected, “Let’s call up the goblin. He’ll be able to confirm or deny her words.” Hermione had forgotten that there were others in the room.

After a few seconds, Bellatrix nodded her assent. She stood up, brushing herself off as though she had sat on something dirty. Hermione was thankful for the brief reprieve. And then Harry and Ron were there, and Dobby. Blasts of light flew around the room as her friends engaged in battle with the Malfoys.

But then clawed hands were pulling her up, and she was too weak to resist. “STOP OR SHE DIES!” Bellatrix bellowed. Hermione felt a sharp blade at her neck, but oddly her focus was on Bellatrix’s body pressed up against her own, hard edges and softness all at once. Silently, she willed her friends to forget her, to get away while they still could. 

The sound of unscrewing from above drew everyone’s attention up to the ceiling, and she was pushed away from behind as the huge chandelier dropped down towards them. Then, finally, they were Apparating to safety.

* * *

_Two months later..._

Hermione, Harry, and Ron sat in the Leaky Cauldron, sipping their drinks. Well, Hermione and Harry were sipping. Ron was pounding them down. “Maybe slow down there?” Hermione suggested.

Harry shook his head. “Let him enjoy tonight. It’s not every day we defeat Voldemort. We did it. It’s finally over.”

Hermione had to agree. She sighed. “And at no small cost either.” Her eyes grew sad as she watched Ron, who had lost more than most. “Fine, but you take the blame when he wakes up tomorrow morning feeling like a Hippogriff stomped on his head.”

“You two are talkin’ ‘bout me, aren’t ya?” Ron had finished his fourth mug and now redirected his attention at his friends. “Hey, I’m gonn’ fin’ my soulmate tonigh’.”

Hermione didn’t want to ruin his fun, but… “Ron, you can’t just find your soulmate because you decide you want to. It doesn’t work that way.”

“Oi, are you,” he stabbed his finger in Hermione’s direction, “saying you don’t b’lieve ‘n me? Cuz watch, I’ll pwoove you wong.”

Harry was amused by his friend’s drunken state. “What’s your plan?”

“See tha’ girl?” He motioned toward a pretty blonde a few tables away. “I’m gonn’ bump into her, get her to say ‘Oi, ginjah’ an’ BAM soulmates!”

“Best of luck, bud,” Harry patted Ron on the shoulder. Ron gave him a salute before turning towards his target. With all his stumbling, he really didn’t have to fake knocking into the poor witch. 

“Watch where you’re going!” she exclaimed, and Ron threw up his hands in apology, shoulders sagging with defeat. He turned back towards his friends who were both smirking at him.

“OI, GINGER!” Ron jumped, instantly sobering up. A buff, blonde man marched up to him. “That’s my girlfriend.”

Ron’s jaw dropped. “No fucking way.” The other man raised his eyebrows. Harry and Hermione watched the events unfold, giggling at their friend’s shocked expression. 

Harry shook his head. “Who knew our little womanizer was barking up the wrong tree the whole time?”

“What are you two laughing so hard about?” Ginny had joined them, and Harry pulled her down into his lap.

Hermione replied, smiling, “I think you can expect to get a new brother-in-law soon.” At Ginny’s questioning look, she nodded towards Ron and his newfound soulmate, who were now making out on top of a table. The blonde witch was nowhere in sight.

Ginny rolled her eyes at the public display. “Oh, Ron. At least he’s found his One, and I won’t have to deal with meeting all his snooty, annoying girlfriends anymore. Speaking of, when are you going to meet yours?”

Hermione stiffened, looking down at the mess of scars crisscrossing over her tattoo. The wound hadn’t had enough time to heal, the letters a dark, garish red. They would never fade away completely. _Mudblood_. Her one lasting reminder of Bellatrix Lestrange... Except that underneath, her tattoo was still fresh and dark, and she had seen Bellatrix fall at the hand of Mrs. Weasley. 

“Hermione, you okay?”

She gave the redhead what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Yeah, just a lot on my mind.”

Ginny looked like she wanted to say more, but then Harry pulled her in for a kiss, leaving Hermione to her own thoughts. So her soulmate wasn’t a Death Eater after all. Hermione should feel relieved, but instead she felt unsettled. After the incident at Black Manor, Hermione had been convinced that Bellatrix was indeed her soulmate. What else could explain her immunity to the evil witch’s curses? While Bellatrix had claimed to be Unmatched, Hermione definitely wouldn’t put it past her to lie.

Try as she might, she couldn’t silence that tiny voice in the back of her head insisting, _She’s alive. She’s still alive._ There was only one way to settle the matter. She had to check the battlefield and… Hermione finished the rest of her drink and drained Harry’s cup for good measure. He was too busy feeling up Ginny anyway. She had a body to find. 

…

The protective wards of the school had been damaged in the fighting, allowing Hermione to Apparate in directly. It was eerily silent in the Great Hall. She hadn’t thought she’d be back in Hogwarts so soon. Sure, she’d always planned to finish her education, but by the start of her seventh year, the school would have been repaired, all signs of the gruesome final battle wiped away. 

The ground was covered in debris, dust still filled the air, and when Hermione looked up, she could see the moon—the real one, not the enchantment that usually transformed the ceiling into the night sky. She sent a spell into any braziers that remained hanging, and the hall lit up, revealing what she hadn’t been able to see in the dark. Buried under the rubble, bodies that no one had come to claim. They were mostly Death Eaters, but there were others too. She glimpsed the large glassy eyes of a house-elf in the distance, recognized the yellow and black pattern of a Hufflepuff scarf peeking out from underneath a stone slab. 

She bit down on her hand to hold in a sob. It was all hitting her now. Why was she here? She should be in Australia, tracking down her parents and restoring their memories. It was over, and she should be holding her loved ones close instead of trying to find the corpse of her torturer. 

She turned to leave, but then she saw the body. It had been spared from any falling ceiling parts, almost perfectly preserving how the witch had fallen. Hermione stepped closer. Bellatrix’s face was relaxed, and she seemed at peace. It made Hermione uncomfortable that the older witch’s loveliness was apparent in death, wiped free of the insanity and cruelty she had worn as a mask in life.

Of course no one had taken Bellatrix’s body away. Those who had fought by her side had either suffered a similar fate or gone into hiding. In all honesty, it was unlikely that anyone on Bellatrix’s side would have cared enough to give her a proper burial anyway. Hermione was about to Apparate back to the Leaky Cauldron, but then she looked down. She had to make sure, or else doubt would find its way back into her mind eventually. She knelt, hand reaching for a pale, delicate throat. Her fingers slid up, searching for a pulse she wasn’t expecting to find.

A hand enclosed around her wrist and she yelped. Eyes darting to the once peaceful face, Hermione found murderous dark eyes staring back at her. Red lips were now stretched into wicked grin. She retracted her arm and scrambled away from the Death Eater. 

Stumbling to her feet, she pointed her wand at Bellatrix. “Don’t - Don’t move a muscle! Y-you’re supposed to be dead! _Accio_!” A wand lying just out of Bellatrix’s reach zoomed into Hermione’s open palm.

“Supposed to be dead? Clearly I’m not.” Bellatrix cackled before her face contorted into a wince, and her hand clutched at her chest.

“Don’t move, I said!” Hermione sent a threatening blast of light whizzing past Bellatrix’s face.

“Easy, pet! Wouldn’t want to hurt your _soulmate_ , now would you?” She licked her lips, looking pleased with herself.

“You said you were Unmatched.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “I lied. Don’t tell me you’re surprised.”

“Then show me your tattoo. Actually, no, tell me where your tattoo is.”

“You don’t trust me?” Her accompanying pout looked oddly childish.

“Not as far as I can throw you,” scoffed Hermione.

Bellatrix sighed. “Under my right ribcage.”

“ _Immobulus!_ ” cast Hermione before she approached cautiously, almost smiling at the glare the other witch was giving her. With her wand, she sliced away a piece of the trademark black corset, finding the word she was looking for. _Please_ , in tiny letters. She also found blood, lots of it, oozing from a wound that must have been located in the center of Bellatrix’s chest. Mrs. Weasley hadn’t missed her mark, so how had Bellatrix survived the _Avada Kedavra_ curse?

Hermione magicked Bellatrix’s corset back into one piece and moved a few steps away before reversing the freezing spell. 

Able to move her jaw again, Bellatrix raged, “You dare cast a spell against me? You’re a Mudblood and I am the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant—”

“He’s dead.” That shut her up. Hermione continued, “And soon you will be, too.”

Bellatrix sneered. “You’re going to kill me?”

“No, but that nasty hole in your chest will do it. A few hours without treatment, and you’ll be dead like you’re supposed to be.” Hermione was proud of how steady her voice sounded.

“I - You - I’m your soulmate!” Bellatrix spluttered. “You’re just going to leave me to die?”

Hermione’s gaze was cold. “I don’t need a soulmate like you.” She turned around, preparing to Apparate away.

“I’m your perfect match!” Bellatrix said, her voice tinged with desperation. 

“We couldn’t be more different!”

“We’re not _that_ different.”

Hermione snorted disbelievingly.

“Did you know I was the brightest witch of my age? We were both shaped by circumstance. You found Potter, and I found the Dark Lord.”

“Don’t tell me that’s your excuse!” Hermione whirled around in anger.

“It’s not an excuse. It’s what happened.” Bellatrix paused, her eyes finding Hermione’s. “You must have longed to meet me, thinking about me, wondering about me, before you knew me.” 

Hermione was silent at the painful truth in those words. 

“Now you’re not even going to give me a chance?”

Hermione fumed, “What kind of a chance do you deserve? After everyone you’ve killed, maimed, tortured!” She jabbed a finger at her own chest. “You found out we were soulmates, and you - you carved _Mudblood_ into my arm! Or have you forgotten?”

Bellatrix was calm in the face of her wrath. “No, I haven’t. I remember all of them. They’re all up here.” She tapped her temple. “Will it make you feel better if I say I feel guilty? It doesn’t change the past.” At Hermione’s silence, she continued, “Now pet, we can keep arguing, but the reality is, I’m dying. If you’re going to save my life, better decide quick.”

It was the sanest Hermione had ever heard Bellatrix sound. Thoughts rushed around her head as she struggled to come to a decision. It should have been obvious. Bellatrix was pure evil, and a few halfway remorseful words didn’t change that. There was no question that she deserved to die. But then, could Hermione really walk away with a clean conscience? She gritted her teeth before whispering, “ _Somnium_.” 

Bellatrix’s head flopped backwards, and Hermione strode forward, grabbing her arm. “You’re really going through with this, aren’t you,” she muttered, shaking her head at herself before Apparating them to the only safe place she could think of. Home.


	2. The Ill-Mannered Houseguest

Hermione was awoken by the sound of shouting and banging. She jumped out of bed and ran into the adjoining room, her old bedroom. It was an odd sight, Bellatrix sitting in her childhood bed, magical ties binding her arms to the bedposts. “Release me this instance!” she demanded.

“Calm down.” When the other witch stopped struggling, Hermione unrestrained her. “Before you do anything—”

“ _ Accio _ wand!” shouted Bellatrix, hand outstretched. When a moment passed and nothing happened, she glared at Hermione. “You restricted my magic?”

“Well, I couldn’t trust you with it. You can’t do magic in this house.”

Bellatrix leapt off the bed and ran out of the room. Hermione winced as she heard a crash that meant Bellatrix had found her Repelling spell on the front door. A few more crashes later, and Bellatrix returned to the bedroom, her clothes slightly rumpled. “The windows too? My, you’re thorough, pet.” She stepped closer to Hermione. “If you insist on trapping me in this house without magic, you leave me no choice. Your charms will have to die with you!” She lunged, but with a wave of her wand, Hermione shoved her back into the bed, the magical ties reforming around her wrists. 

“Look, you said you wanted a chance. Against better judgment, I’m giving you one, but you have to do this my way.”

Bellatrix snarled, “A chance to live as a Muggle? I’d rather die first.”

“No, the chance to become a good person.”

There was a pregnant pause before Bellatrix burst out laughing. “The Mudblood thinks she can make me into a good person!” Her expression froze mid cackle, becoming dangerous. “Now look here, muddy, you and I are going to be here until one of us dies, waiting for me to turn good. So you best return my wand and let me out of here right now.”

“I have my terms. If you don’t follow them—”

“Are  _ you _ threatening  _ me _ ?” asked Bellatrix in disbelief.

“I don’t think you’re in a position to argue.”

Bellatrix smirked. “Even tied to this bed, magicless, I have the upper hand. Do you know why?” She didn’t wait for Hermione to respond. “Because I’m willing to kill you. And I know that no matter what I do, you don’t have the backbone to kill me. You’re weak, just like that Weasley woman.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You haven’t figured it out yet? I thought you were the brightest witch of your age.” She tsked. “Haven’t you wondered how I’m still alive? Like I’ve told Potter, you’ve got to mean it when you cast an Unforgivable Curse. Even her concern for her daughter wasn’t enough for her to really want me dead, pathetic! She managed to hurt me—and I’ll make her pay for that—but she didn’t want it bad enough.”

“Stop it!” She didn’t want to hear anymore of Bellatrix’s lessons on murder. “Okay, yes, I won’t kill you. But I can call the Ministry on you.” Hermione probably should have called the Ministry the moment she had discovered the Death Eater alive, but it had all happened so fast, and that option had slipped her mind. “Do you really prefer Azkaban to here?”

“Both are cells!” Bellatrix growled.

“This one is dementor-free.” Hermione saw a tiny flicker of fear in the other witch’s eyes at the mention of the horrible creatures used to torment Azkaban prisoners.

Then Bellatrix’s eyes hardened. “You won’t call the Ministry. You’d be putting yourself at risk of criminal charges, harboring a fugitive.”

“I think they’ll be understanding. With the whole soulmate business, not to mention I’m a war hero. Besides, are you willing to call my bluff?”

Bellatrix was silent for a few minutes, the gears in her head turning. “Well played, muddy. What are your terms?”

“First of all, stop calling me ‘Mudblood’ or ‘muddy’ or any other derogatory name.”

“Fine,  _ pet _ .”

Hermione gritted her teeth. “Second, no more threats, against me or anyone else.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Bellatrix pouted.

“Third, try to become a good person.” Before Bellatrix could open her mouth, she amended, “Or act like you’re putting in the effort.”

“Is that  _ all _ you ask?”

She ignored the older witch’s sarcasm. “Yes, if you follow those terms, I will not report you to the Ministry.”

“And when will you let me go?”

“When you’ve convinced me that you’ve changed for the better.”

Bellatrix barked out a laugh. “And if I never manage to convince you?”

“I’m giving you a second chance because I believe you can become a good person if you try. I can’t let you out until I’m sure you won’t hurt anyone else. If it becomes apparent that you can’t actually be rehabilitated,” she shrugged. “I’ll have to turn you in.”

“How long until you give up?”

Hermione pursed her lips. “Why do you want a hard deadline?”

“So I can know how long I’ve got.”

“For what? You’re not planning to escape, are you? Because it will be impossible without your magic.”

“I’m aware of that, muddy.” At Hermione’s raised eyebrow, Bellatrix amended, “ _ Pet _ . Just tell me how long.”

“There are exactly four months before I go back to school. I’ll give you until then to make progress.”

The Death Eater’s lips curled up into a soft smile. “Plenty of time.”

Hermione didn’t like the sound of that, but she decided against probing further. She knew she wouldn’t get a straight answer out of Bellatrix anyway. The silence stretched out a little while longer before Hermione exclaimed, a little too cheerfully, “Alright then!” and once again released the older witch from her bonds.

When Bellatrix made no move to harm her, Hermione turned to leave the room.

“That’s it?”

Hermione spun back around, eyebrows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You’re just going to leave after telling me to ‘try and become a better person’? How am I supposed to do that if you don’t teach me?”

“Oh, erm, I suppose - I suppose that’s true.” She hadn’t thought this through. Now she somehow had to teach a Death Eater to be a good person, a task arguably more difficult than defeating Voldemort. At least she had known how to go about doing that.  _ She’s your soulmate _ , she reminded herself.  _ There’s got to be a reason for that.  _

“What’s my first lesson,  _ Professor Granger _ ?” Bellatrix smiled predatorily, mockery evident in her voice.

_ Just pretend that you’re regular soulmates. What would be the first step? _ “Get to know each other!” blurted out Hermione. “Let’s get to know each other,” she repeated more calmly. “We are soulmates after all.”

Bellatrix’s smile grew wider, as though that were the answer she’d been hoping for. “What do you want to know about me, pet? Ask anything you want, and don’t be shy.”

Hermione hesitated before asking, “What made you, er, well, you?”

Bellatrix arched an eyebrow. “Starting off with the deep questions, eh? Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have the emotional sob story you’re looking for. Nothing special made me into who I am today.”

“Back at Hogwarts, you said you were shaped by circumstance.”

“Well, yes. I followed the power, we both did.”

“I didn’t follow Harry because he was supposedly powerful. I followed him because he’s my friend and because I believed in his cause,” Hermione said hotly.

“And I believed in the Dark Lord’s cause,” Bellatrix drawled, “but if you insist that our motivations were different, so be it. My point is, I chose to be, as you would call it, ‘evil.’ No one forced me.”

“What’s your stance on soulmate tattoos?”

If Bellatrix was fazed by the sudden topic change, she didn’t show it. “I don’t believe in it.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You don’t believe in soulmate tattoos?”

Bellatrix smirked. “That’s what I just said, pet.”

“Why - how - you expect me to give you a second chance because we’re soulmates, but you don’t even believe in the idea?”

“Look, I didn’t believe in it for thirty or so years. One day, I wake up and there are these tiny letters printed onto my stomach. It’s hard to change a three-decades-old mindset. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure you existed.”

Hermione supposed she could understand. There had been times when she had questioned whether her soulmate was real, and she’d had the tattoo since birth. “Did you think you were Unmatched, growing up?”

Bellatrix nodded, her eyes getting a far off look. “Mother and Father were ecstatic about that.”

“Why?”

“Because they didn’t put much stock into the whole soulmate business. Merlin forbid my soulmate wasn’t a pureblood. With me Unmatched, they could marry me off to whichever pureblood suitor they liked.”

“They arranged your marriage?”

“Yes, to Rudolphus. I never liked him,” Bellatrix tilted her head thoughtfully, “though perhaps I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.” 

“Was he Unmatched too?”

“No, he was actually bound to a little pureblood witch, but her family was much less significant than the Blacks, and his parents jumped on Father’s proposal.”

A thought suddenly occurred to Hermione. “Your sister, Andromeda—she’s soulmates with a Muggle, isn’t she?”

Bellatrix scrunched up her nose. “Burned her off the family tree after that,” she said casually.

“Just because her soulmate was a Muggle?”

“No, because she ran off with him. She turned her back on her family, so we turned our backs on her.”

“But he was her soulmate. Surely you could have been more understanding. I mean, you would have her give up the love of her life?”

“There’s no love more important than family,” Bellatrix snarled, no longer nonchalant. 

Hermione blinked, unsure if she’d imagined the flash of pain in the Death Eater’s eyes. Before she could find an appropriate way to respond, Bellatrix pushed herself off the bed and shouldered her way past Hermione.

“I’m hungry. Make food.” She padded towards the kitchen, and Hermione had no choice but to follow.

So Hermione bustled about in the kitchen, keeping a careful eye on Bellatrix, who lounged at the table, tapping a sharp nail against the wood and looking bored.

When Hermione set a plate down in front of her, she looked at it suspiciously and sniffed. “What’s this?”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “Eggs and bacon.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “I know that much. But why are they like this?”

“Like what?”

“Why are they looking at me?  _ Smiling _ at me?” Bellatrix flipped a bacon strip, turning the smile into a frown.

“You don’t like the face? My mum used to make them like that for me.” Speaking of her mum…

“You’re not about to cry, are you, muddy? Fine, I’ll eat your stupid food.” Bellatrix picked up her fork and stabbed one of the egg-eyes, releasing a squirt of runny yolk. 

Hermione turned to grab herself a plate and covertly wiped away a stray tear. By the time she sat down at the table, Bellatrix had finished wolfing down the last of her food. Without so much as a second glance, she stood and left, not bothering to clear away her dish. Maybe it was for the best. Hermione wasn’t in the mood for talking anyway.

…

Hermione didn’t hear her approach and nearly jumped out of her skin when she felt sharp nails against her neck. This was immediately followed by Bellatrix’s delighted cackle. Hermione turned around in her seat and glared up at the witch. “Did you have something to say?”

Bellatrix opened her mouth before her attention was captured by the object sitting on the table. “What’s that glowing metal slab?”

Hermione managed to hide her smile. “It’s called a computer.”

“I imagine it computes things.” Bellatrix squinted at it suspiciously.

Hermione nodded. “Yes, that’s one thing it does.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “Muggles, always so uninspired with names.”

Hermione didn’t rise to the bait, although she could have a lengthy discussion about the ridiculousness of wizard names. Instead, she refocused her attention on the screen in front of her. She wasn’t super familiar with the workings of a computer, having spent so much time away at Hogwarts, but she was starting to get the hang of it. 

“What are you doing?”

“Looking for my mum and dad,” replied Hermione without glancing away from the screen.

“Are they trapped in the compute-er?” The word sounded odd in Bellatrix’s mouth. Hermione hid another smile.

“No, but I’m thinking I can use it to find them.”

“Why don’t you just use magic for that?”

This time Hermione did look back. “Do you know a spell for locating people? I imagine not, otherwise you would have found Harry and Ron and me a lot sooner.”

Bellatrix frowned. Hermione didn’t know whether it was because of her mention of the war, or because of her suggestion that a Muggle invention could do what magic could not. “I’m bored.”

“What do you want me to do about that?” Hermione turned back to the computer and tapped a few keys.

“Return my magic.”

“No.”

Bellatrix pouted. “Then at least entertain me.”

“I’m sorry, but like I’ve told you, I’m busy.”

“Are you making any progress finding mummy and daddy?”

Hermione huffed, choosing not to respond. Typing her parents’ fake names into some virtual directory called Facebook hadn’t yielded any results.

“You should take a break,” needled Bellatrix. “It might help you come up with more ideas.”

Hermione squinted at Bellatrix. “What do you want to do then?”

“You said we should get to know each other. I wanted to share my memories with you.”

Hermione was stunned. Not only did Bellatrix’s proposition not involve any maiming, but it required a level of intimacy that they certainly hadn’t reached yet. Hermione was immediately suspicious. “What do you get out of this?”

“You told me that I need to prove I’m trying to become a better person. Take it as a gesture of goodwill from me.”

“Yes, but…I didn’t expect this much so soon.”

“Well, you only gave me four months,” snapped Bellatrix. 

Hermione flinched at the sudden anger directed at her, but inwardly she was relieved. This Bellatrix, she could deal with. ‘Good person’ Bellatrix left her feeling unsettled. She knew it was what she had asked of the witch, but…  _ But what? _ She was being unfair and she knew it. If she was going to dangle the prize of freedom in front of Bellatrix, then she needed to believe that the Death Eater could change. 

Objectively, she couldn’t see any harm in entering Bellatrix’s mind. Without magic, the older witch would be unable to use Legilimency against Hermione. Subjectively, as someone who had been on the receiving end of Bellatrix’s torture, she hated the idea.

Bellatrix seemed to sense her inner turmoil, only raising an eyebrow as the silence stretched on.

Hermione hesitated. “Very well.” She powered down the computer and followed Bellatrix to the couch. “What are you showing me?”

“Let’s start with something light, my schoolgirl days. It’ll give you a chance to understand the real meaning of ‘brightest witch of her age.’” Bellatrix winked, truly throwing Hermione for a loop. Bellatrix was trying to keep her in good spirits. The thought did nothing to comfort her, only adding to her unease.

Before she had a chance to reconsider, Hermione found her hand being guided up, her wand tip coming to rest by Bellatrix’s temple. “Just say the spell.”

Hermione stared into Bellatrix’s eyes, searching for any hint of guile, but the dark depths were unrevealing. She steeled her resolve. “ _ Legilimens _ .”

Instantly, she found herself in a familiar looking hallway. The floor was less scuffed, the walls not as yellowed, but there was no doubt that this was Hogwarts. Hermione dodged around, trying to avoid being jostled by the crowds of students passing by. It was only when a particularly harried boy ran right through her that she remembered she wasn’t physically present. 

A professor walked by her and Hermione realized with a jolt that it was a young Dumbledore. This must have been only a few years before he had been appointed Headmaster. A student trailed after him, talking rapidly about human transfiguration. Dumbledore turned, an amused but fond look on his face. “Miss Black, human transfiguration is a sixth year topic, and I am running late for a meeting. But I recommend you visit the library. There are many resources at your disposal.”

Hermione waited with bated breath for Bellatrix to turn around. When she finally did, it wasn’t what Hermione was expecting. She seemed so ordinary. She was beautiful, of course, but where was the arrogance, the maniacal gleam, that she had come to associate with the Death Eater? Hermione had to remind herself that Bellatrix hadn’t been born evil. Something had likely set her on this path.

“Disappointed?”

Hermione spun around at the sound of a voice by her ear. It was Bellatrix, from her present time. “How are you here?

“I figured this would be more fun if you had a tour guide.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Bellatrix shot her the haughty look she was so familiar with. “This is my mind. I can do what I want.”

Hermione decided to accept that response. “Why did you show me this memory?”

“So you could see that I was normal. I had a normal life and normal friends.”

As if on cue, a girl caught up to young Bellatrix, linking their arms together. “Why the long face?” she asked.

“I’ve already read all the human transfiguration texts in the library.”

The girl laughed. “I won’t pretend to understand you, Bella. Come on, let’s go find Jacob.”

Hermione didn’t miss the way young Bellatrix’s expression brightened. “Who’s Jacob?”

“He was a friend.” At Bellatrix’s hardened tone, Hermione chose not to pry. 

She didn’t like the tension that had descended on them. They watched the two girls walk away in silence. “So, erm, what was all this about being the brightest witch of your age?”

This pulled Bellatrix out of whatever thoughts were leaving the crease in her brow. “I’ll show you.” She waved her hand and the scene before them changed.

Hermione found herself sitting at an unoccupied desk at the back of the classroom, a position she had never once found herself in during her time at Hogwarts. It was odd seeing all the heads of hair in front of her. A boy to her right discreetly stuck his quill up his nose when he thought no one was looking, and Hermione quickly redirected her attention to the lecturing professor. 

It was a History of Magic class, being taught by a much more human version of Professor Binns than Hermione was used to seeing. Sadly, even out of ghost form, he was dreary and monotone, the multiple lolling heads a testament to that fact. 

“Professor?” The droning paused, and Professor Binns seemed almost surprised to find that he had an audience of students and was not just discussing the Battle at Heilstein with himself. 

“Yes, Miss Black?”

“I was just wondering whether you knew who ordered the blast that hit the hospital. I was reading Chroniculus Punnet’s  _ A Complete and Thorough History of the Global Wizarding War _ , and he interviewed the soldier who aimed and fired the missile. The soldier claimed to have received an owl from his Major commanding him to hit the children’s wing.”

“Yes, yes, then it was Major, er, Maj Claflin.” He looked down at his notes to find his place, but Bellatrix interrupted before he could continue his monologue.

“But by other historical accounts, Maj  _ Carlin _ had been struck down in battle a few minutes before the hospital was hit. His owl was found by his side.”

“Miss Black, are you suggesting that this soldier targeted the hospital without reason?”

“What I am suggesting, Professor, is that this soldier saw an opportunity to end the war faster and took it. He traded the lives of hundreds of children for the lives of thousands of men.”

Binns frowned. “I served in the war, a Commanding Officer in the 40th Infantry Division, long before you were born, and I can tell you that’s simply not how things were done. Soldiers followed orders, and that was that. And I’d think my recollection is more accurate than whatever odd theories you can come up with.”

“Professor, with all due respect, the 40th Infantry was stationed in Sicily the whole time and didn’t even see a single battle. I don’t think you were there in person to see what happened at Heilstein. Now, this soldier, he asked to remain nameless. He should have been celebrated as a hero, having stricken the most fatal blow of the war. Instead, he chose to fade into obscurity. He probably knew there were few that would understand his choice.”

Binns furrowed his brow for a second before shaking his head in resignation. “Miss Black, if you’re done postulating, may I get back to my lecture now?”

Bellatrix leaned back in her chair, seemingly content that her point had been made. Hermione watched as a boy in front of her whispered to his deskmate, “What an insufferable know-it-all.” The other boy shrugged and replied, “At least it made Binns shut up for a few minutes.”

“Alright, so you were well-read in history. Doesn’t make you smarter than—,” Hermione turned around to see Bellatrix with a wand in hand and a ball of fire dancing across her palm. Her previous words sounded in Hermione’s head.  _ This is my mind. I can do what I want. _ Her stomach dropped as she came to a realization. “You can do magic in here.”

Bellatrix smirked. “You didn’t think all I wanted to do was share my memories, did you?”

Hermione was stuck between feeling impressed that Bellatrix had thought this out so thoroughly and feeling dread at another duel.

As if sensing her unease, Bellatrix said, “Don’t worry, pet. Nothing I do here can hurt you physically. Watch.  _ Stupefy _ !”

Before she could throw up a  _ Protego _ , the burst of light from Bellatrix’s wand hit her square in the chest. She braced for impact, but the spell disappeared in a poof of smoke.

“So… you came here just to…” Hermione paused, suddenly engrossed in watching Bellatrix play with her ball of fire.

“To do magic.” Bellatrix let the ball drop to the ground, where it extinguished with a hiss. She stared at the spot where it had fallen. “I missed it.”

Hermione was startled by the vulnerable look on Bellatrix’s face. “Well… if you’d like…” She hesitated.

The mask was back up in an instant. “What is it, girl? Spit it out.”

“If you want, we can make it part of our deal. You share memories and we can do magic here together. Maybe even have practice duels.”

Bellatrix’s grin lit up her eyes, and Hermione’s heartbeat quickened at the viciousness of it. She felt like she had just stepped into a well-laid trap. “Yes, pet,” Bellatrix was practically purring, “I would like that very much.” Then without warning, she fired a streak of light right at Hermione’s face.

Hermione ducked just in time, the spell whizzing over her head. “Hey!” she protested, just in time to awkwardly twist away from another curse. 

Bellatrix chuckled. “You’re supposed to use your wand, you know.”

Hermione glared and fired off a shot, trying to catch Bellatrix off guard mid-laugh. The witch easily deflected and then there was a barrage of spells flying between them. 

Soon Hermione was panting from exertion—was that even supposed to happen when she wasn’t physically present?—and if this had been a real duel, she would be dead by now. A few of Bellatrix’s shots had made their way past her defenses. When another burst of light dissolved onto her forehead with a small poof, Bellatrix yelled, “Enough!”

Hermione took the chance to catch her breath, and Bellatrix approached her, disappointment etched across her features. Hermione didn’t like that. She hated letting anyone down. 

“Lessons,” said Bellatrix.

“Excuse me?”

“You need lessons.”

Hermione took offense. “Hey, maybe I can’t beat you, one of the most skilled duelists in the world,” she paused to roll her eyes at Bellatrix’s smirk, “while we’re in  _ your _ mind, but that doesn’t mean I need lessons.”

“You need lessons,” Bellatrix repeated, “from me.”

That was interesting. Hermione squinted at the former Death Eater. “And you’re offering?”

Bellatrix casually lifted a shoulder. “You teach me to be a better person, I can teach you to become better at dueling. Besides, it’s no fun for me if you’re a terrible opponent.”

“Okay, that’s fair.” Hermione looked her right in the eyes. “Thank you, I accept.”

Now Bellatrix shifted with unease, as though unused to hearing those words. “If that’s settled, can you get out of my head now?”

Hermione suppressed a smile at Bellatrix’s attempt to hide her discomfort and nodded. She waved her wand and found herself sitting in her living room once more, Bellatrix’s fingers intertwined with her own. Almost immediately, the other witch snatched her hands away and stormed off, leaving Hermione to wonder what she had done.


	3. Welcome to My Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I'm back, sorry for the wait. Hope you all are staying safe. Please accept my humble offering.

The smell of cooking lured Bellatrix out of her room, as Hermione expected it might. She may have magicked a few wafts through the gap under her door to provide extra incentive. 

Bellatrix plopped down at the table and started digging into the lasagna Hermione had just made. Hermione waited for a few minutes, but when it seemed that Bellatrix would not be slowing down, she asked, “Do you like it?”

Bellatrix grunted.

“What kinds of food do you like?”

Bellatrix paused, muttered, “Anything edible,” then continued chewing.

“Did you ever have lasagna as a kid?”

Finally, Bellatrix laid down her fork and turned her attention to Hermione. “Are we making small talk now?” she snapped.

Hermione stared with wide eyes, wondering why Bellatrix’s temper was flaring up.

“Stop,” Bellatrix commanded.

“Stop what?”

“Trying to figure me out. I’m _evil_ , remember? I don’t need a reason to be in a bad mood.”

“I just want to get to know you better,” Hermione said softly.

“Fine, and you have been, with the memories. But don’t try to understand me. There’s no use in you trying.”

“And why is that?”

Bellatrix gave her a pitying look. “Because you’ll never be someone who could sacrifice a building of children to win a war.”

“I could.” Hermione didn’t like how offended she sounded. It probably came from her hatred of being told she couldn’t do something.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“I could,” Hermione continued, “if I knew that doing so would save a building of children.”

Bellatrix scoffed. “No, you’d probably find some way to save both buildings.”

“Well this would only be used as a last resort. Obviously.”

“You still don’t get it. I would take down a building of enemy children to win a war. I’d do it to save a building of my own people. I’d do it just to save myself. Who knows, I might even do it just for the fun of it.” Bellatrix smirked at Hermione’s horrified look. “Maybe you do get it now.”

“But- but why?” Hermione spluttered. “Why do you derive pleasure from causing other people pain?”

Bellatrix shrugged. “Why do you like doing good things?”

“Because… knowing that you’re having a positive effect on someone else’s life… feels good.”

“And I like having control over other people. Knowing that I always have the upper hand in every situation because I’m willing to go one step further, make the tougher decision… now that ‘feels good’ to me.”

Hermione made a connection. “You’ve felt powerless in the past.”

Bellatrix glared at her. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze me. Yes, I have. There isn’t a witch that hasn’t, even now that wizarding laws have been changed. Back then, a witch had to take her own power.”

“Tell me,” Hermione requested gently.

Bellatrix gave her a hard look, and at first Hermione thought she would refuse. Then her expression turned sly. “How about a duel first? We made a deal, didn’t we?”

It was true. “Alright,” Hermione agreed, “But then we get to the memories after?”

Bellatrix’s only response was to finish her last bite of food and then lead Hermione over to the couch. 

Hermione put her wand to Bellatrix’s temple. “ _Legilimens_.”

They were in empty space, blank nothingness stretching as far as the eye could see. “What is this place?” Hermione asked.

“I’ve cleared my mind,” Bellatrix spoke beside her. “But I can add some scenery in if you’d like.” She waved a hand and they were standing in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. 

“No, not here,” Hermione shivered, her thoughts going back to the vicious last battle. 

“Picky, picky,” Bellatrix muttered, but she looked relieved when their surroundings changed once again. Hermione wondered if she was thinking about her near-death experience at the hands of Molly Weasley.

The new place Bellatrix had brought them to was beautiful. It was a picturesque meadow. Little yellow flowers dotted the grass, the sky was blue and clear above them, and there were even butterflies.

“What is this place?” Hermione asked again.

“I made it up in my mind.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows at that. This place had come out of Bellatrix’s imagination? She would have thought dungeons were more Bellatrix’s style. Then she scolded herself for thinking that way. Of course Bellatrix could also create beauty. Trying to shake off her feelings of guilt, she changed the subject. “You want to duel here?”

Bellatrix nodded. “And I think it would be fun to add some conditions to the duel.”

“What conditions?” Hermione asked, a little worried.

“Whoever loses is the one who has to share her memories today. Specifically, her most painful childhood memory.”

Hermione scrunched her nose. “Most painful? Why?”

“Because I’m curious,” Bellatrix responded. “And because I’ll definitely win.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the arrogance, although she knew Bellatrix was the better duelist. “How will we define winning? We can’t harm each other here.”

“We can. Nothing that will affect our physical bodies, but remember that we exist through our minds in here. The mind is what processes pain, and it can imitate pain. Allow yourself to feel physical sensation.”

“How do I do that?”

Now it was Bellatrix’s turn to roll her eyes. “Brightest witch of your age? Have you no control over your own mind? Try to feel the grass.”

Hermione bristled at the insult, but she knelt down anyway. She tried to grasp at a few blades of grass, her fingers passing through them.

“Try harder,” Bellatrix ordered over her shoulder.

Hermione resisted the urge to retort and focused on her fingers, imagining what would happen if she could actually touch the grass. This time, as her hand passed through, the blades moved a bit, as though tickled by the wind.

“Think about what grass feels like,” Bellatrix suggested.

Hermione closed her eyes and concentrated on her memories of playing in the grass, how it felt between her fingers. She brushed her hand along the blades of grass again, and she laughed in delight when she felt how soft they were. She rubbed her hands along the ground, enjoying the sensation. 

When Hermione looked up, she saw Bellatrix observing her with something that looked suspiciously like pride in her eyes. The older witch bent down so they were at eye level with each other before directing her attention to the ground. She carefully picked a flower and held it out.

Hermione took it, feeling a surge of satisfaction when the flower stayed between her fingers. She looked Bellatrix in the eyes, trying to communicate the sincerity of her words. “Thank you,” she said, “for the gift, and for teaching me.”

The corners of Bellatrix’s mouth twitched, and Hermione thought she’d finally receive a genuine smile from the woman. Then Bellatrix reached out and pinched her knee, making Hermione yelp and drop the flower. Bellatrix stood and assumed a fighting stance, her wand already drawn. “Now you’re ready to duel.”

Hermione also stood, giving up on any chance of reclaiming their momentary connection. If Bellatrix felt the need to retreat behind her usual antagonistic ways, then Hermione would try to be patient. 

“Do you agree to my terms?” Bellatrix asked.

“The duel ends when one of us gives up?”

Bellatrix nodded. “Whenever you’ve had enough of the pain, just say the word.”

“Wait, how do I know you’ll allow yourself to feel pain? You could just numb yourself so that you don’t feel anything.”

“I could, but I’m _far_ too honorable to do such a thing,” Bellatrix quipped. Then her face grew serious. “Honestly, pet, I was training my mind to take pain before you were even born. If you want to beat me, you’ll have to disarm me. Pain won’t stop me.”

Hermione paused, pretending to think. “Okay, let’s duel,” she rushed out before firing an _Expelliarmus_ at Bellatrix, hoping to catch her off guard. 

Bellatrix’s reflexes were too fast, and she easily dodged out of the way. “Playing dirty, Granger?” She smirked. “I approve.” She cast a spell back with such force that the effort of deflecting it made Hermione stumble backward. 

Hermione soon realized with apprehension that Bellatrix had been holding back during their earlier duel. It was almost embarrassing how swiftly Bellatrix defeated her. Hermione barely managed to duck a few quick blasts before a streak of green light caught her in the chest.

Pain consumed her body, and she couldn’t breathe. She fell backwards, writhing on the ground, and she wondered dazedly if this was how she’d die, if this had been Bellatrix’s plan all along. Hermione’s view of the blue sky was suddenly blocked by Bellatrix’s face, up close and looking concerned. Bellatrix’s hands felt cool against her burning cheeks, and her eyes bore into Hermione’s. “Let go,” she commanded.

Let go? Hermione was confused. Let go of what? She tried to speak the question aloud, but her lips wouldn’t form the words. Bellatrix gripped her by the shoulders, lifted her up, and then slammed her down again. As soon as her back hit the ground, Hermione felt something release, and she was falling.

Hermione jerked up and yelped as her head connected with something hard. 

“Watch it, muddy,” Bellatrix snarled, and Hermione realized she was on the couch again, sitting across from Bellatrix, who was rubbing at a red mark on her forehead. 

“Sorry,” Hermione mumbled, slowly catching her breath. She rubbed at the center of her chest, but there was no lingering pain. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

“It was all in your mind,” Bellatrix reminded her.

“It didn’t feel just in my mind. It felt real.”

“That was the point of the grass exercise. You trained your mind to feel physical sensation.”

“But…” Hermione frowned. “I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t shut it off.”

“You got too attached to that world. You forgot that it wasn’t reality. You can’t do that.”

“It would have been nice if you told me that before blasting me,” Hermione muttered. 

“I didn’t realize ‘the brightest witch of her age’ would need such simple direction,” Bellatrix snarked back. 

Hermione laughed at that, and she saw Bellatrix’s eyes widen fractionally at her reaction. “Touché.” Then she hesitated, knowing that compliments sometimes made Bellatrix uncomfortable.

Bellatrix crossed her arms. “Spit it out.”

“What?”

“I can tell you want to say something. Just say it.”

“That was really impressive, what you did back there.”

Bellatrix smirked. “What? Crushing you in a duel?”

“No—well, that too—but I meant creating your own place and then knowing how to interact physically with everything.”

Bellatrix shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of time there.”

“When did you first make it?”

Hermione could almost see Bellatrix’s eyes shuttering. “When I was a kid. Which reminds me, it’s time for you to uphold your end of the deal.”

“You still want to see my most painful childhood memory?” Hermione asked. “What about a happy one instead?”

Bellatrix shook her head. “I need to see what I’m working with.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I said I’d teach you. Part of doing magic is the fancy wandwork and knowing your spells. The other part comes from deeper within. It draws on your emotions and relies on pure instinct. The stronger that part of you is, the more powerful your magic will be.”

“That makes sense,” Hermione said. “How does that relate to painful childhood memories?”

“Pain can bring out powerful emotions. Childhood pain cuts especially deep. When you cast, you want to channel the feelings from one such memory and use it to fuel your magic.”

“Is that what you do?”

“For Merlin’s sake, Granger, just show me the bloody memory,” Bellatrix huffed impatiently. 

Hermione thought for a moment, then nodded. “I have it.”

“Well?”

Hermione clasped Bellatrix’s hand in her own.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bellatrix asked, pulling her hand away.

“I, er, I’ve never brought anyone into my mind before.” Hermione flushed with embarrassment. Her time with Bellatrix had made her aware of how limited the Hogwarts curriculum and the scope of her magical knowledge were. “I thought it might be like Apparating.”

Bellatrix shook her head. “Apparating is about the physical body. Legilimency is different. To bring me into your memories, you have to establish a connection between our minds.”

“So… I first go into your mind, and then try to pull you into my mind from there?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“I’m glad to find you’re capable of rational thought after all, pet.”

Hermione cast the _Legilimens_ spell and once again found herself in the blankness of Bellatrix’s mind, cleared of anything. 

“This way, there should be less interference,” Bellatrix explained. “Two layers of legilimency is a bit unstable. Best to come out of it layer by layer to avoid any potential brain scrambling.”

“Two layers? You’re going to perform legilimency on me now?”

“Yes. Now that I can do magic in here, I should be able to access your memories as long as you leave your mind wide open.”

“Have you ever tried this before?” Hermione asked skeptically.

“No, but no one would ever discover new magic if we were all too scared to try new things. Come on, where’s the Gryffindor in you?”

Hermione set her jaw. “Fine, go ahead and try. My mind is an open book.”

“Focus on the memory,” Bellatrix instructed as she drew her wand. “ _Legilimens_.”

Hermione felt an odd tickling in her brain, and the whiteness around them morphed into a blurry picture.

“Focus harder. I’m having some trouble getting through.”

The images sharpened, and Hermione realized that she was standing with her back to Bellatrix’s front. Something sharp dug into her neck. A knife? But Bellatrix was also standing in front of her, watching curiously. What the hell was going on?

“STOP OR SHE DIES!” the Bellatrix behind her shouted into her ear.

Bystander Bellatrix cocked her head to the side. “Your most painful childhood memory is me holding a knife to your neck? Not when I was carving those letters into your arm?”

Hermione scowled. “This is just the lead up. I’m providing context.” She tried to move her head, but Bellatrix from behind held her in place. “Also, why am I playing the part of myself in this memory? You were able to look on when you showed me yours.”

“Not enough emotional separation from the memory, which makes sense since this is supposed to be your most painful one. Time also helps to create distance. I’m not the girl I was back at Hogwarts. You still identify strongly with this Hermione and the feelings from this moment, so your mind casts you into the role.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Not necessarily, but less control over your memories means you reveal more to anyone who tries to access them. For example, you’re projecting your emotions from this memory onto me right now.

“And how do I feel?”

“Scared, but defiant. I sense some confusion. You’re conflicted, perhaps about the whole soulmate business. You should watch out.”

“For what?” Hermione barely had time to finish her question before she was shoved from behind. Oh right, this part. Ron caught her in his arms, and then the sounds and images of their surroundings grew warped as he Apparated them away.

They were on the beach now, the sand wet beneath them. A loud crack sounded, and Harry and Dobby appeared. Secondhand relief from the memory flooded through her, but she knew it would be short lived. It was only when Dobby stumbled forward that she could see the knife handle protruding from his stomach. There was no question who the blade belonged to.

Harry cradled Dobby in his lap and looked at her with desperate eyes. “Hermione, there must be something in your bag, something that can fix this?”

Hermione could only shake her head as pain expanded in her chest, colliding with and then overpowering the ache in her arm. The image of Harry and Dobby and the beach grew hazy, slowly fading to black. “This is the part where I pass out,” said Hermione.

“I’ll bring us back,” came Bellatrix’s subdued voice from behind her. 

They returned to the blank space, and then Hermione withdrew from Bellatrix’s mind. They sat on the couch, studying each other in silence. Finally, Hermione spoke. “It was the first time I saw some die for me, really die _for me_. He came to rescue me, and…”

Bellatrix nodded. “You don’t need to explain to me why losing a loved one is painful.” When she made no move to leave, Hermione realized that there was more she wanted to say.

“Spit it out.” Hermione gave her best Bellatrix impersonation.

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “If that’s your way of imitating me, I don’t know how they let you into my Gringotts vault, even with Polyjuice.”

“Easy. I just snapped at them once and they were too scared to look me in the eye after that.”

Bellatrix smirked. “Well, I have been told that I’m quite intimidating,” she drawled. Her face grew somber again, and Hermione held her breath. “Look, Granger. The things I did to you… to your friends…” She sighed frustratedly. “I guess I’m trying to say, this wasn’t what I expected from your most painful childhood memory. I forgot that you were a child back then. Still practically are a child.”

Hermione shrugged. “By age, yes, we were minors. But we weren’t children. It was war, and we all did what we had to so we could win.” She paused. “So what were you expecting?”

“Maybe a pet dying. A broken arm. Or some kids bullying you for that ridiculously bushy hair.”

Hermione frowned and patted at her hair defensively. “It’s not that bad.”

“Not now, it isn’t. But you forget that there are pictures of you all over the house. You look so happy in them.” 

Hermione had forgotten that she’d restored herself to the pictures, partly so she could feel more at home, and partly out of optimism for her parents’ return. 

Bellatrix continued, “I saw that back at Malfoy Manor too. Despite being captured and outnumbered and facing imminent death, your eyes still had so much hope. I took great joy in taking that from you.”

“You didn’t take it from me. And we won the war in the end,” Hermione reminded her.

Bellatrix stared at her. “No, the hope in your eyes is dimmer now. It’s tempered by suffering.”

Perhaps that was true. Some days, Hermione felt like she was looking at a stranger in the mirror. “Do you regret it?”

Bellatrix lifted Hermione’s left arm and brushed a finger over the jagged scars. “Yes. Does this hurt?”

Hermione shook her head. It did just the opposite. She watched as Bellatrix traced soothing circles into her arm, but when she looked up, she found the other witch’s eyes on her. She froze as Bellatrix leaned in. 

Then her lips were captured by a warm mouth, and Bellatrix pushed her down so she was lying across the length of the couch. Hermione’s hands reflexively latched onto Bellatrix’s dark curls, needing something to ground herself. Her head spun with the sudden rush of pleasure, almost enough to overshadow the alarm bells ringing. But… 

This didn’t make any sense. Just this morning, Bellatrix had been willing to bring down a building full of children. There was no reason for her to get caught up in the fact that Hermione had been underage when she tortured her. And Bellatrix had never shown any attraction to Hermione at all, instead making her disdain for her parentage obvious. Even the kissing felt mechanical when Hermione paid closer attention.

Bellatrix wasn’t into this. She was just doing it for Hermione’s sake. With some difficulty, Hermione pushed Bellatrix off of her and sat up. 

“What’s wrong, pet?” Bellatrix asked, her eyes wide in fake innocence.

“You don’t regret it,” Hermione said softly. 

Bellatrix dropped the act, her mouth twisting in a sneer. “Isn’t this what you wanted from me?”

“No, I—”

Bellatrix cut her off angrily. “You wanted me to dance for you like a puppet, demeaning myself in front of a mudblood, while dangling the false promise of freedom in front of me. Is this not good enough for you?”

“This is not what I asked for,” cried Hermione. “I just hoped I could help you see the world differently. See that not everyone is cruel and calculating, and that you don’t have to be mean to protect yourself. And I hoped that you would become a better person because of it. They weren’t false promises.”

Bellatrix laughed humorlessly. “You’re saying that you were actually planning to let me, a Death Eater, walk free at the end of these four months?”

“If I believed you had changed, then yes.”

“You hate me.” 

“I don’t.”

“Then you’re lying to yourself. Have you forgotten everything I’ve done?”

Hermione hadn’t forgotten.

“I hate you, you know. Not only because you were part of the reason my side lost the war. I hate what you stand for, who you are. Your very existence, and the idea that you can practice magic, is an insult to my bloodline.” Bellatrix was shouting now. “And I hate you for keeping me captive here, in this damned farce!” 

Hermione nodded slowly, absorbing Bellatrix’s anger. “If I’m being honest, I do hate you, and more than a little bit. My friends died because of you. But I’m also being honest when I say I’ll give you a fair chance at improving yourself. And I want to make clear, I don’t expect anything of you, no kisses or anything of that nature. I don’t want you to feel degraded. I thought you were having fun with the dueling.”

Hermione paused to give Bellatrix a chance to confirm or deny. When she was silent, Hermione prodded, “Did you enjoy it? Or was that part of the ruse?”

Bellatrix only gave her a sulky shrug. 

“Look, worst case scenario is, if you don’t believe me, if you don’t want to cooperate, then you go back to Azkaban in four months. Sooner if you choose.” She stared into Bellatrix’s dark eyes, trying to convey the truth in her words. 

“So, will you stay?” Hermione asked quietly, as if not to startle a wild beast. The other witch closed her eyes, and Hermione could almost hear the gears in her head turning. Bellatrix was calculating something. Hermione knew she would choose the option that best suited her.

“Yes.” Bellatrix stood and left, and a few seconds later, Hermione heard her bedroom door close. 

Hermione allowed herself a minute to regroup, absentmindedly running a finger over her lips, still swollen from Bellatrix’s earlier ministrations. Then she got up and went to bed.


	4. Life's a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quarantine life truly feels like a dream. It seems that I might be slightly more productive now though, or maybe it's just that I have tons more free time. Anyway, here's an update that didn't take me almost half a year to write. Hope you like it!

Hermione closed her eyes, enjoying the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. Loud whooping made her open her eyes. Harry and Ron were ahead of her on their broomsticks, both twisting and turning in an effort to outdo the other with aerial tricks. She shook her head at their antics.

Harry looked back over his shoulder at her. “Hermione, catch up!”

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, “C’mon, slowpoke.”

Hermione surged forward, rewarding Ron with a check in the shoulder for that last comment. It felt good to hang out with the boys again, and it was nice to know their friendship hadn’t ended even though the war had.

Harry knocked into her from the other side, and she opened her mouth to reprimand him before she noted the surprise on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“I think someone just took a shot at me.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Who would do that?” Then she felt something whiz by her ear, and she turned to see a dark figure following far behind them. 

“We should get out of here,” Harry said, all the previous joy wiped from his expression.

The three of them started to descend, but the person trailing them was starting to close the distance. Then she heard a cackle that made her blood run cold. 

It seemed that Harry and Ron had made the same connection. “It can’t be…” Harry’s brow was furrowed in disbelief.

“Bloody Bellatrix Black,” Ron cursed. 

“She’s supposed to be—” 

“Dead?” Bellatrix finished for Harry, and then she was on them. 

Spells began to fly as the dark witch took on the Golden Trio. Ron was hit with an _Expelliarmus_ and his wand spun out of his hand. Hermione was close enough to see the intent on Bellatrix’s face as she aimed her wand at Ron for a final blow.

Without thinking, Hermione launched herself towards the other witch, successfully tackling her and sending her killing curse harmlessly into space. But she also managed to throw Bellatrix off balance, and they both slid off her broomstick.

She heard Harry and Ron cry out her name in alarm from above, but she and Bellatrix were hurtling down toward the ground. She realized she was clinging to Bellatrix’s robe and loosened her grip. Bellatrix glared at her angrily. “This is for interrupting my dream.”

Hermione had no idea what Bellatrix was talking about. Then Bellatrix’s hand lashed out, connecting with her cheek. 

Hermione opened her eyes, taking in the darkness and stillness. A glance at the digital clock on her nightstand told her that it was the middle of the night. That had been an odd dream. She flipped over onto her side and went back to sleep.

… 

The next morning, Hermione was pouring herself a mug of Earl Grey when she heard Bellatrix pad into the kitchen. “You’re up early,” she said cautiously, unsure of where they stood.

“Couldn’t sleep,” grumbled Bellatrix.

Hermione gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s awful. I can cast some sleeping charms on you tonight, if you’d like.”

Bellatrix frowned. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione braced herself for another argument about yesterday.

“It means, I was sleeping perfectly fine and having a nice dream where I was chasing down you and your little friends—”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at that.

“—and you just tackled me out of nowhere and ruined my dream. I woke up, and then I couldn’t fall back asleep.”

“I’m sorry? I can’t control what I do in _your_ dreams. And while we’re having this conversation, I’ll have you know that you also intruded in on my dreams last night. Harry and Ron and I were having fun flying around, and then you showed up and started firing off spells. You even slapped me.”

Bellatrix let out a growl and dropped her head into her hands, rubbing at her temples. 

Hermione was surprised by her show of remorse. “You know I don’t actually blame you for what you did in a dream, right?”

“And you realize that we had the same dream last night, right?” Bellatrix mimicked back.

Hermione frowned. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

Bellatrix sighed. “My guess is that we opened up some channel yesterday with the two layers of legilimency. And in our sleep, it’s more difficult to practice Occlumency. Our subconscious minds are allowing our dreams to merge.”

“So now what?” 

Bellatrix shrugged. “We could take turns sleeping, make sure we don’t dream at the same time.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Doesn’t that seem a little...drastic? Maybe we should go a day without any Legilimency and see if things go back to normal.”

“Right, because leaving something alone is the way to fix it.”

“Well, I’d rather give that a try before totally turning around my sleep schedule.”

“Suit yourself. But then it’s up to you to keep me entertained.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Making breakfast would be a good start.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, set a mug of tea in front of Bellatrix, and went over to the refrigerator to look for food. Forty-five minutes later, breakfast was done and Bellatrix—

“I’m bored,” she whined.

Hermione huffed in exasperation. She was relieved that things between them seemed to have returned to the way they were before The Kiss and the following drama, but in other ways, this seemed like a step backward from the easy camaraderie they’d shared in Bellatrix’s meadow.

“I find it difficult to believe that you, an adult woman, are incapable of entertaining yourself.”

“I can, but why make the effort when you’re here? Unless you’re too busy to spend time with me...” Bellatrix pouted, drawing Hermione’s gaze to the lips she’d kissed—enjoyed kissing—just last night.

The pout turned into a smirk, and Hermione hastily looked away. “Er, what do you usually do for fun?” she asked, avoiding Bellatrix’s eyes.

“Magic. Torture.” Bellatrix paused to tap on her bottom lip, managing to catch Hermione’s attention once again. “Sometimes I do enjoy a good book.”

“Reading!” Hermione latched onto the little bit of common ground. “What kind of books do you like?”

“Books about magic… torture…”

“I see where this is going,” Hermione sighed. 

“What are your plans for today?” Bellatrix asked.

“I was going to work more on finding my parents.”

“The computing device couldn’t help you? Well, you can’t expect much from a muggle invention.”

Hermione shook her head. “I think I’m the problem. I just don’t know enough about technology to be able to find them. But I know it’s possible. The police are tracking down people all the time.”

“Then _Imperius_ one of them and make him do the tracking for you.”

“That’s an Unforgivable Curse!”

“And…?”

Hermione glared at Bellatrix.

“Fine, then shell out the money to pay one of them to do it.”

“The police work for the government. But I suppose I could hire someone else to look for them…a private investigator, maybe.”

Bellatrix snorted.

“What?”

“A private investigator? For investigating privates?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You have the maturity of an eight-year-old boy.”

“It’s not my fault you muggles have stupid naming conventions.”

Hermione refused to be baited. “I’m going to look up PI firms. Try to keep busy for twenty minutes.”

Forty minutes and multiple phone calls later, Hermione walked into the living room, worried about what she would find. Bellatrix was sitting on the couch, carefully reading over a pamphlet. The pieces to a board game were laid out in front of her on the table.

Hermione quieted her footsteps and approached slowly. Just as she reached out to touch her target’s shoulder, Bellatrix spoke.

“You’re bad at sneaking up on people.”

Hermione huffed. “Can’t blame me for trying. What do you have here?”

“When you were taking your time with the privates investigator—”

“— _private_ investigator—”

“—I took a look at your collection of games. Have you played this one before?”

Hermione looked at the one that Bellatrix had chosen, a plan forming. “Othello? No, I haven’t. I remember my parents really liked playing against each other though.”

“Care for a game?” Bellatrix asked casually.

“Sure. How do you play?”

Bellatrix gestured to the board. “We set up like this, with two white pieces and two black pieces in the center. Black goes first and places another black piece on the board, let’s say here.” She placed a piece down. “Since this white piece is ‘outflanked’ on both ends by the black pieces, it gets flipped to become a black piece. You can ‘outflank’ horizontally, vertically, and diagonally, and you can flip multiple of your opponent’s pieces in one turn as long as they are in a continuous line and capped at both ends by your pieces. When there are no moves left, we count up the number of each color, and whoever has the most pieces wins.”

Hermione nodded, murmuring her understanding. 

“What color do you want?” Bellatrix asked, resetting the board.

“I feel like you should have black.”

Bellatrix smiled and made the first move.

Hermione lost the first round horrendously. Bellatrix cackled gleefully when the final tallies were in. “I have 46 black, and you only have 17 white. You are terrible at this game!”

“It’s my first time playing,” Hermione defended hotly.

“Mine as well,” responded Bellatrix. 

“Again?” Hermione asked, already resetting the board.

“Fine,” Bellatrix smirked. “But let’s up the ante. Loser needs to tell the story of their first kiss.”

Hermione blushed, her mind going back to the not-so-distant first kiss she and Bellatrix had shared. 

“You have been kissed before, right? I mean, prior to yesterday?” Bellatrix asked.

“Yes, of course!” Hermione felt herself growing defensive again. “Believe it or not, I have been kissed by people who actually _wanted_ to kiss me.”

“You can tell me about it after I beat you.”

“Unlikely,” muttered Hermione. “I won’t lose to you again.”

She did lose to Bellatrix again, this time by a whopping 13 to 49.

“I didn’t think you could get worse, but it’s nice that you’re keeping me on my toes. So about this first kiss…?”

Hermione sighed. “It happened at the end of my fourth year, with a girl in the year above.”

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow. “So you have a thing for older women. What else? Set the scene. What was her name?”

“It was a few months after the Triwizard Tournament. A boy died in the competition, Cedric Diggory. He left behind his soulmate. I… I grew close with her, with Cho. It started out as a friendship. I didn’t think about her in that way, I just wanted to comfort her after what had happened. Then one day after she finished crying into my shoulder…”

“She kissed you,” Bellatrix surmised.

Hermione nodded.

“And how was it?”

Hermione thought back to that unexpected first kiss. She let out a quiet laugh. “Wet.” 

Bellatrix smirked. “So what I’m hearing is that I’m the most talented kisser you’ve kissed.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “I feel like the fact that you didn’t actually want to kiss me disqualifies you from the competition.”

“Then Miss Wet Kisser wins?”

“Cho actually wasn’t bad when she wasn’t crying. I wouldn’t put her as number one, but I’d say she’s in the top five.”

“Just how many people have you been kissing?” asked Bellatrix. 

Hermione smiled. “That wasn’t part of the bet.”

“We can make it part of the bet. Do you want to go another round?”

“Sure, but I have a better idea. Once we get back to memory-sharing, the loser has to answer any question the winner has, through memories.”

“You do realize that I’m going to win again, right?”

“Don’t be so sure,” said Hermione. “Third time’s the charm, right?”

Bellatrix shook her head. “Despite what the box says, it’s going to take you much longer than a lifetime to master this game.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “If you’re so confident, then accept the bet.”

“Fine, I will. I’m looking forward to getting a front-row seat to your most embarrassing memory.”

They had just finished setting up the board when the doorbell rang, making Bellatrix jump.

“Oh, that must be the PI that I invited over. I’ll get the door.” Hermione stood up and padded towards the front of the house.

“Whatever happened to good old-fashioned knocking?” Bellatrix muttered under her breath.

Hermione opened the door to reveal a shaggy-haired young man in a faded t-shirt and khaki shorts. He spoke with an American accent. “Hi, I’m Brian. You spoke with my firm over the phone. I’m the private investigator they assigned to your case.”

Hermione heard a snort of laughter behind her and turned to see Bellatrix, leaning against the wall with an amused expression on her face. She turned back to her visitor. “Hello, Brian, I’m Hermione. Please come in.”

Brian entered and took in his surroundings. His eyes widened when they landed on Bellatrix.

“Er, Brian, this is Bellatrix, my…aunt. Don’t mind her. She’s recently gotten into cosplay, and she likes dressing up like a witch.” Hermione figured it wouldn’t hurt to cover all her bases. “And sometimes she gets really deep into character and does crazy things.”

“Okay, gotcha. I think cosplay is cool,” he said to Bellatrix, who gave him a cold grin in return. Brian’s eyes darted away, and he cleared his throat nervously.

After a few beats of awkward silence, Hermione decided to rescue the poor guy. “Should we talk about the case?”

“Yeah, definitely. Let me just get out my trusty notepad.” He pulled a small flipbook out of his pocket and untucked a pen from where it was hiding in his unruly hair. 

Hermione showed him to the kitchen, politely ignoring when Brian tripped over and knocked into multiple objects along the way. Judging by the snickers coming from behind, Bellatrix had chosen not to extend the same courtesy. She waited until they were safely seated at the table before continuing. “Like I said over the phone, I’m looking for my parents.”

“Ooh, the hunt for your birth parents. I love it. Did you recently find out you were adopted or something?”

“No, no. I was raised by my birth parents, and… It’s complicated, but they recently changed their names and went to Australia. We don’t have any way of contacting each other.”

Brian jotted a few notes down. Then he frowned, looking up. “Did you say Australia?”

Hermione nodded. “Is that a problem?”

“Not necessarily, but that means I’m not the person for the job. I only handle local cases. But my aunt is the one who takes international ones. Her name’s Brianna, and before you ask—yes, I was named after her. I’ll give Bri a call and have her come over this afternoon.” He stood up and made for the door.

Hermione was momentarily stunned by his quick exit but followed him out. After locking the door behind him, she turned to Bellatrix. “What did you do?”

Bellatrix blinked innocently. “Why do you think I did something?”

“He couldn’t wait to get out of here. You must have made him uncomfortable somehow.”

“I did nothing of the sort. You heard the boy. He’s not in charge of international cases, thankfully. Did you see how much of a walking disaster he was? Not that I’m holding out much hope for his aunt being better. Where did you find this investigative firm anyway?”

“There weren’t that many firms that were willing to send someone to meet me at the house, and this one had the best reviews.”

“Then leave the house. I don’t need babysitting!”

Before Hermione could rebut that, there came a tentative knock at the door.

“Brian,” said Hermione, confused that he was back. “Did you leave something here?”

He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times, still not saying a word.

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Brian, is everything alright?”

He took a deep breath. “Now that I’m off your case and it isn’t a conflict of interest…do you think I could get your aunt’s number?” He blushed a dark red.

Hermione’s eyebrows shot up. “Er, I’m sure she would be really flattered by your request. But her husband only recently passed, and I don’t think she’s ready to start dating yet.”

Brian’s hopeful expression sank and he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Then he perked up again. “What if I come back in a few months? Do you think I have a chance?”

“Uh, sure. Come back in a few months.”

Brian nodded happily and strolled away with some spring in his step. He still stumbled over an uneven piece of sidewalk on the way to his car. 

After locking the door again, Hermione shook her head. “I cannot believe he fancied you.”

Bellatrix smirked haughtily. “I can’t help it if everyone finds me irresistible.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Let’s continue our game.”

The smug smile stayed on Bellatrix’s face as they started playing another round. Five minutes in, Hermione took great satisfaction in watching the smile slip off her face to be replaced by a look of intense concentration. Another five minutes later, the game was over. 

Bellatrix glared at her. “You lied. This wasn’t your first time playing.”

Hermione shrugged. “Perhaps.”

“You’ve been letting me win.”

“I used to play with my parents all the time. It was their favorite game.” She smiled triumphantly, but stopped when she noticed Bellatrix staring back with no emotion. 

“So you set up this trap. Well done.” Bellatrix’s tone was anything but congratulatory, and Hermione’s skin prickled with a sense of danger. “Go on, tell me what you want to know.”

“I was thinking, uh, maybe you could tell me about your relationship with Rodolphus?” Hermione stuttered out nervously. 

Bellatrix’s eyes flashed. “I should have known not to trust you. You mudbloods are nothing but dirty liars and cheats.” She flipped over the board with a loud clatter, sending pieces flying across the living room. “You want to know about my marriage? Then go ask my husband.” After spitting out the last word, she stormed to her room and slammed the door hard enough to shake the house. 

Hermione sighed and started to pick up game pieces. 

…

Hermione shook Brianna’s hand again and watched as the woman walked away. She then closed the door with a sigh of relief. Unlike her nephew, Brianna had come off as competent, confident, and not at all accident-prone. Brianna had assured Hermione that she would locate her parents within a month. 

Having dealt with one problem, Hermione turned her attention to the one inside her house, currently brooding in her childhood bedroom. She was thankful that Bellatrix hadn’t been present during Brianna’s visit and caused a scene, but she knew she had to face the witch eventually. 

She knocked on Bellatrix’s door. Receiving no answer, she tried the handle, but it was locked. 

“Go away,” came a voice from inside.

“You can’t hide in there forever, you know.”

“Watch me.”

Hermione heaved a sigh before casting an _Alohomora_ spell. She entered the room.

Bellatrix had been sitting on the floor, leaning against the footboard of the bed, but she turned so that her back was to Hermione. “I guess if you don’t value honesty, I can’t expect you to value privacy either.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “Don’t give me that load of crap. As if you’re above playing dirty. I came in here to tell you that you don’t have to share anything with me. And just so you know, it’s not because of your little temper tantrum. It’s because I respect your boundaries, and I won’t make you share something you’re not ready to share. Don’t make the mistake of thinking that makes me weak.”

She stopped and waited, but when no response was forthcoming, she left the room, closing the door behind her.

…

She was surprised when Bellatrix came slinking up to the table for dinner. She didn’t comment on it, only setting out another plate. 

They were halfway through the meal when Bellatrix cleared her throat. “Look, I may have overreacted earlier.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.

“You didn’t technically break any rules. You just let me underestimate you. Something I won’t do again. But a bet’s a bet. Tomorrow, I’ll tell you about Rodolphus.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Hermione said cautiously. “I told you, I won’t force you to show me anything you don’t want to share.”

“A bet’s a bet,” repeated Bellatrix. “Besides, you held up your end of our first bet. I know how personal your most painful childhood memory is.” She paused, eyes glued to her food. “Thank you… for not asking for mine.”

Hermione blinked, unsure of how to respond. “Er, of course. It’s not really something I want to know unless you want to talk about it.”

There was an awkward silence, and Bellatrix seemed as eager to fill it as Hermione was. “Anyway, tomorrow you can satisfy your curiosity about my late husband. Although I must warn you that he was dreadfully boring.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it interesting. Hopefully without throwing Othello pieces at me,” Hermione said, aiming for levity.

“Stay out of my dreams tonight and let me get a good night’s rest. Then we’ll see. The lack of sleep made me irritable today.”

“I thought you didn’t need a reason to be in a bad mood?” Hermione teased.

“Careful, Granger. Soon I’ll start to think you actually care about what I have to say.”

…

Hermione was in Bellatrix’s meadow, this time without her hostess. It was nighttime, and stars dusted the black sky. She walked forward, unsure of where she was going. Then she saw something on the ground, difficult to make out in the darkness. As she wandered closer, she saw that it was a little girl, lying on her back. 

The little girl tilted her head to look at Hermione. “Hello,” she called.

“Hello,” Hermione responded. 

The girl turned her attention back to the sky, but she patted the ground next to her in invitation.

Hermione hesitated before sitting down and leaning back. “What are you doing?” she asked, making conversation.

“Looking at the stars.”

“Which ones?”

“Do you see those three stars all in a line? They make up the belt of Orion. Orion is a hunter. If you go up, you can see the stars that make up his arms and his bow. You see it?”

Hermione looked sideways to see the little girl staring intently at her. She nodded, and the girl faced upward again. 

“Now do you see the star on his right side, where his armpit would be?”

“Yes.”

“That star is called Bellatrix. That’s my name. My parents named me after a hunter’s armpit.”

Hermione resisted the urge to laugh. “But did you know that Bellatrix means ‘female warrior’?”

“Yeah, that’s what my parents say, but it’s still an armpit.” She sighed, sounding so serious that Hermione had to smile. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you also named after a star?”

“I—”

“Granger,” another voice cut in. 

Hermione turned to the source of her name, meeting an older Bellatrix’s eyes. When she looked back in confusion, the little girl was gone. “What’s happening?”

“I told you, leaving something alone won’t fix it.”

“We’re dreaming right now,” Hermione realized. She pushed herself to her feet so she didn’t have to crane her neck to see Bellatrix. “Now what? We try your terrible sleep schedule?”

Bellatrix shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“Maybe I do. I was wondering, can we figure out how to construct boundaries in here? Like build a wall to separate your side and my side. You said it’s hard for us to use Occlumency in sleep, so maybe we need a physical barrier instead of just a mental one.”

Bellatrix looked skeptical. “And how will we build a barrier to stretch across the infinite dreamscape?”

“We don’t need to divide it evenly. If we make a circular enclosure, I can take the inside and you can take the outside.”

Bellatrix smirked. “You want to confine your dreams to a dome?”

“If that’s what it takes so we can sleep whenever we want, then sure. Besides, it’ll be a big dome. Now are you going to help me?” Hermione waved an arm and a large stone slab rose up from the ground. 

Bellatrix shook her head. “If you do it that way, it’ll take forever.” A look of concentration came over her face, and then she started to grow. 

Hermione looked up at Bellatrix, now towering over her at around twenty feet tall and still growing. Soon, they were both giants, and they quickly encircled a large space that could span multiple football fields and rose about ten stories off the ground.

After they returned to normal size, Hermione dusted off her hands. “Guess that’s that.”

“I think you’re forgetting something.” Bellatrix waved her hand and a door appeared in the stone.

“Right, I need a way to get in.”

“It’s an _emergency_ door,” Bellatrix stressed. “To be used only in emergencies. Otherwise, you stay on your side and I stay on mine.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Hermione. She pushed the door open and stepped inside the dome. After shutting the door, she found that Bellatrix had included a lock and a peephole on her side. She watched through the peephole as Bellatrix walked out of view. Then she locked the door and repeated softly to herself, “That’s that.”


End file.
